Of Present and Future Inequalities
by Thalia Eltanin Malfoy
Summary: Some of the war heroes from the battle against Voldemort travel generations into the future to find that everything has been reversed in Hogwarts and the whole Wizarding World. Gryffindors became too arrogant and dominant. Slytherins are the peace-makers now. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws split themselves up between sides. Pairings unknown to the author as of the moment.


_**Hello! This idea just popped into my head earlier, and I think the idea is quite interesting.**_

_**There'll be longer chapter after this, I swear. xD**_

_**Pairings are to be revealed, if there are pairings at all.**_

_**Hope you enjoy! Won't be continuing this without reviews~**_

_**Much love,**_

_**Thalia Malfoy.**_

_Disclaimer: So not JKR. If I was, Dramione would be canon, so would Drarry, which would be really messed up, and so I am obviously not the Queen._

* * *

Ron had no idea where he was.

For one thing, it was full of yellows and blacks _everywhere._

He was lying on a four-poster bed; _Merlin_ knew when the last time he laid down on one was. His Hogwarts years. But they were long gone.

Suddenly, a little boy with curly brown hair appeared out of nowhere in front of him, screaming obscenities in joy.

"Oi! Bloody hell, midget, what do you think you're doing?" Ron struggled to push the squirming child from over him.

"Haha, got you again, Riley!" the little boy shouted with glee, hitting Ron's head. "It's almost time for breakfast, go, go, go!"

"Ryan, when I let you in here, you promised not to make a ruckus," a humouring voice came from where the door to the dormitory was. Ron looked up and saw a tall, lanky boy with black, curly hair leaning against the doorframe.

"Sorry, Harold! See you in the Great Hall, Riley!" Ryan quickly ran out the door.

"That kid is horrible," Ron stated bluntly to his saviour.

Harold chuckled merrily. "Ah, Riley, you're such a good sport, as always."

"Why does everybody keep calling me that? And bloody where am I?" Ron asked, annoyed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Did Ryan hit you on the head too hard, Riley?" Harold laughed, coming closer to mess up Ron's hair.

"My name's Ron," he said defiantly. "Ron Weasley. Perhaps you've heard of me."

"I'm sorry?"

"Ron Weasley." Ron held out his hand for Harold to shake. "And I have no idea where am I, or who you are."

Harold looked at him with a doubtful expression for about three seconds, and then burst into laughter.

"Hahahahaha, Ron W-weasley? Oh, Riley, this is why I never want to change roommates… Haha, Ron Weasley, my arse…" Harold doubled up in chuckles.

Ron felt his face go hot. "It's true, you bastard!"

Harold started another fit of rumbles of laughter. "Yes, and I suppose my name is not Harold Longbottom? I'm Neville, my great-grandfather, stuck in my great grandson's just-graduated-from puberty's body."

Ron was perplexed. "Neville Longbottom's your granddad?"

Harold raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Of course. Don't you remember the first day wherein the teachers announced heroes' descendants? I almost died in embarrassment."

"I knew Neville… He's my dormmate in Hogwarts. We're good friends. He was a hero in the war against You-Know-Who."

Harold rolled his blue eyes. "Don't think you can fool me with that, Hardwicke. All of those facts are in our lessons in History of Magic. Are you serious about trying to pull this off?"

Ron was feeling extremely uncomfortable by now. He was pretty sure that he wouldn't wake up back in his normal life anytime soon. His eyes wandered around, and fixed themselves on what Harold Longbottom was wearing.

"Are those… Hogwarts robes?"

Harold looked down. "Yeah, I decided to change already, or the Gryffindors will have my neck, the bloody suck-ups. You should change too. Remember when they poured pumpkin juice all over you just because you woke up late and had to run in Muggle clothes last week?"

"Oi, Gryffindors aren't like that," Ron protested angrily.

Harold laughed sardonically. "Yeah? Still putting up the Weasley act? Let me remind you, Gryffindors can do much worse than pour juice all over you, and none of the Professors would give a flipping side-look."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, to defend his House, but on seeing the hateful glare Harold was sending out the window, he closed it.

"So… what House are we in?" he asked lightly.

Harold smirked at him. "Hufflepuff, you dingdong."

Ron felt his eyes grow wide in horror, and Harold laughed.

"Hey, hey, half of us aren't so bad, remember? Even though most of us willingly give ourselves up as slaves to the Gryffindor IS, a few still have some good ol' dignity, such as the stunningly attractive young man before you." He winked.

"What's the Gryffindor IS?" Ron was certain that there was no such thing during his time.

"Gryffindor Inquisitorial Squad. Apparently, there was such a thing as an Inquisitorial Squad during Harry Potter's time here at Hogwarts, wherein the members could directly report to the Headmistress or Headmaster. Ten years ago, they revived it and called it Dumbledore's Army, after the group Harry Potter, himself, founded during his fifth year. Only the descendants of the war heroes could be members. A few years back, the members stopped caring about the well-being of the school, wanted more power over the school, and renamed it the Inquisitorial Squad. Some of us just add the 'Gryffindor' part just because the group's mostly dominated by those arsehat Gryffindors." Harold sighed in annoyance and exasperation. "Do I have to explain more to you? This game is getting boring, Riley."

Ron didn't know what to say after the terrible story he's just heard. "Wow."

Harold chuckled darkly, without mirth. "I reckon that's the best reaction anyone can give to how this school turned out. Let's go eat breakfast."

* * *

Hermione woke up, feeling dazed. She rubbed her eyes, feeling disoriented.

She was in a soft bed, in an unfamiliar place. The room was dark, with a fireplace across the bed, fire crackling.

She tried to sit up, and then realized that she was naked under the thick, warm blanket, and that there was an arm around her waist.

She froze, her jaw dropping slightly.

"Oh my goodness…" She desperately tried to think of what happened last night, if she'd been out drinking, but nothing came up.

Slowly, hesitantly, she looked to see who the man sleeping beside her was.

All she could make out was a silhouette of a blond man with his head buried into a pillow, and an arm thrown carelessly around her. Gently, she poked him, and turned his head to examine his face when he didn't give a response.

Hermione didn't need more than a second's look to recognize that serene, sleeping face beside her.

She squealed and roughly sat up, trying to get away from him.

He stirred slowly, and furrowed his eyebrows when he saw her at the far end of the bed, a blanket wrapped around her body protectively.

He shook his head to clear it, and reached out a hand towards her, and stopped midair when she flinched. "Don't touch me," Hermione said menacingly.

Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand. "Granger, what's wrong?" he asked in concern.

Hermione started laughing hysterically. "What's wrong? What's _wrong?_ Oh, of course I don't see anything wrong with this situation! I'm in bed with a _Malfoy_."

"Regina, that was your wake-up speech to me four months ago, in this same room, in this same situation," Malfoy stated with some amusement, relaxing against a pillow. "That didn't seem to have prevented you from shagging me night after night after night—"

"Oh, shut up, I would never do that!" Hermione shouted indignantly, blushing furiously.

"Oh right, it was just night after night and then an occasional Head Girl meeting and then we continue with the night after night after night pattern," Malfoy amended silkily. "What's wrong, Regina, did you have a nightmare?"

_This is a nightmare_, Hermione wanted to say, but there were other pressing concerns. "Regina? Oh Merlin, Malfoy, you say we've been sha— spending nights together for four months, and you can't even get my name right? It's _Hermione_, you cockroach, remember? Mudblood Granger?"

Malfoy stopped for a moment, trying to process what she just said. Hermione waited, fuming.

"Granger, are you okay?" he said, with genuine concern in his eyes. "Tell me, what happened last night? Did—did Weasley do anything to you?"

Hermione almost wept with joy at hearing a comforting name. "Weasley? You mean Ron, right? Please tell me he's here somewhere—"

"No." Malfoy grabbed her wrist with a firm grip, and pressed the back of his other hand against her forehead. "You don't feel sick… did you drink anything dangerous?"

"Don't touch me!"

Malfoy let go, raising his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Alright. No, I do not mean Ronald Weasley, who I'm assuming is the one you're talking about. I was referring to Gabriel Weasley, his great grandson."

Hermione didn't understand what he just said. "Great… great grandson? How is that possible?"

"Do you know who I am? What is my name, Regina?"

Hermione gulped, realization slipping into her piece by piece. "Draco Malfoy. You must be. You look exactly like him…"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy was my great-grandfather. My name is Abraxas Malfoy. I am your boyfriend. We've been seeing each other for four months. You are Regina Granger, descendant of Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter, the hero. We are both in our seventh year here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Do you recognize any of this information?" Abraxas' tone was started to sound panicky.

Hermione shook her head.

"Oh, angel," Abraxas drew her close to him and buried his face into her hair. Hermione was too shocked to respond. "What happened?"

"My name is not Regina," Hermione whispered. "My name is Hermione Jean Granger, and a week ago, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and I just helped win the war against Lord Voldemort."

Abraxas breathed deeply. "I'm going to help you through this, okay? Regina, stay with me."

Hermione violently pushed him away. "My name is not Regina!" she yelled. "I am Hermione Granger and I have no idea who you are!"

She tried to take deep, calming breaths, and buried her face in her hands. She wanted to break down and cry, but she couldn't do that. She has to find a way to solve this situation.

"What—" her voice cracked and she stopped to clear her throat. "What year is it?"

It was a long silence before Abraxas replied to her in a sorrowful tone. "2150."


End file.
